


Falling Slowly

by ShesAKillerQueen98



Series: One Shot Fluffs [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has PTSD (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Aziraphale Is Trying (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Met Before The Fall (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Blood, Blood and Injury, Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Chronic Pain, Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has PTSD (Good Omens), Crowley Keeps Pre-Fall Memories (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley has Trauma from the Fall (Good Omens), Crowley is Angry at God (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley is Patient (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fallen Angels, Forehead Kisses, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), POV Multiple, Pre-Fall Crowley (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, References to Depression, Song Lyrics, Swearing, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26871106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShesAKillerQueen98/pseuds/ShesAKillerQueen98
Summary: Three months of peace after the failed apocalypse ends in tragedy as Heaven finds a new way to punish Aziraphale, one that's much more permanent. Will he and Crowley be able to pick up the pieces?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: One Shot Fluffs [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2164884
Comments: 6
Kudos: 86





	Falling Slowly

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags and please take care of yourself

For a demon, Crowley was feeling strangely optimistic. The apocalypse hadn’t happened, Heaven and Hell had been thoroughly fooled, Adam was living life as a normal, happy child, and no other human was any wiser.

Three months. Three months of being free. Three months of walking in St. James’ Park feeding the ducks, getting drunk in the bookshop, going out to lunch at cozy little cafes and dinner and elegant restaurants, it was wonderful.

At first, he had been outright terrified. That first night, shortly after they returned from lunch at the ritz and then spending the rest of the day walking around London, taking in the city they almost lost, he’d had a full on panic attack, trembling and whimpering about how they’d be figured out at any minute, how they weren’t free. They’d never really be free.

But he was lucky Aziraphale had been there. The angel had helped him onto the couch and cradled the demon’s trembling body in his arms, whispering that he was okay, that they were both going to be okay. He had brought out his beautiful, soft, white wings and cocooned the demon in love and warmth. He had never felt so safe in his life. He’d fallen asleep in the angel’s arms, with those beautiful wings around him and his head resting against his angel’s heart. Before he drifted off, he felt a lovely, tender kiss against his temple.

Aziraphale was still there when Crowley woke up the next morning, still holding him, still with his wings around him. Crowley would have been content to stay there until the sun died. But the two had to move eventually. Aziraphale had to open the shop and Crowley had to…well at first he wasn’t sure what the heaven he was supposed to do. He _did_ enjoy causing mischief and mildly annoying people, but it would feel just a little too strange doing it without being associated with Hell. Something about winning souls for someone who’d abused him for years but now had no hold over him made him feel just a tad shitty. He wanted nothing more to do with those bastards. Part of him was actually tempted to do good things just as a metaphorical middle finger to downstairs. It was likely that he wouldn’t do that, he was still a demon by species even if he wasn’t by employ and something about doing good deeds made him feel a little sick, but it was a decent enough sentiment.

Aziraphale had been wonderfully patient with him, promising him they’d take it one day at a time. They had eternity, plenty of time to get to know themselves. The real them, not what Heaven and Hell had tried to make them.

It had been difficult, but three months later, life was going just fine. More than fine. Things were great. They were being left alone, they were learning more about themselves, about each other, they were happy. _Crowley_ was happy. And he was okay admitting that.

It was late in the afternoon, golden sunlight filling the shop and illuminating every corner in a warm glow. Outside, the weather was beginning to grow chilly, so humans hurried past the windows clad in oversized sweaters, jackets, and scarves.

Angel and demon were both snuggled together on the couch, Crowley’s head in Aziraphale’s lap while the angel read allowed, only pausing every so often to take a sip of cocoa. Crowley’s eyes were beginning to drift closed and he was close to falling asleep. Aziraphale’s voice was so soothing and soft, better than any sleeping draught or medicine any doctor could prescribe. Just when he was about to nod off, Aziraphale closed the book, standing up and letting Crowley’s head slowly roll from his lap. The demon let out a noise that was halfway between a groan and a whine at the loss of his pillow. Aziraphale chuckled.

“So sorry, my dear. But I’m out of cocoa.”

Crowley smushed his face into the cushions, groaning again and heaving a complaint, which was muffled by the sofa.

“You’ll have to speak up, darling.” Aziraphale said, a glimmer of bastardly tease in his voice.

Crowley shifted his head so his face was visible, as was the grumpy scowl on his lips.

“Rule of thumb, Angel. If your significant other falls asleep on you, you’re not to supposed to move.”

Aziraphale chuckled again. “That only counts for when you’re actually asleep. You weren’t. Therefore, I’m utterly blameless.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Bastard.”

Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder, a cheeky smirk on his cherubic face. “But you love me.”

Crowley answered with another roll of his eyes, staying silent, though the sudden blush appearing across his face told them both all they needed to know. He did love the angel.

Aziraphale leaned down and gave the demon a soft kiss on the forehead. “I’ll only be a moment.” The angel straightened up, gathering his empty mug and beginning to make his way out to the little kitchenette.

Crowley snuggled into the cushions as he waited for Aziraphale to return, stretching out his long limbs, satisfying clicks coming from his joints. He let his eyes drift closed again as he listened to Aziraphale boil the water and open the tin of cocoa mix. Aside from that, the bookshop was quiet. Not an eerie, awful silence, just a peaceful quiet. The demon’s mind was able to settle as he listened to the distant sound of the spoon clinking against the sides of the mug. Soon enough, he heard the creak of the floorboards as the angel approached the main area of the shop again.

Suddenly the creaks stopped. Crowley sat up and saw Aziraphale standing in the middle of the little hallway between his office and the main area, There was a look of confusion on his face. The hand that wasn’t holding the mug was settled over his chest.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked.

The angel looked up. There was a sudden tiredness in his eyes and he looked like he was going to be sick.

“Crowley?” The angel said. “Crowley I feel strange.”

“Angel-”

Before Crowley could finish, Aziraphale doubled over, dropping the mug and crying out in pain. Crowley leapt off the couch and rushed towards the angel just in time for Aziraphale’s knees to give way, catching him before he could crash to the floor.

“Angel? Aziraphale, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale groaned, his eyes squeezed shut. “It hurts! Everything hurts!”

Crowley swiveled his body so he was cradling Aziraphale in his lap. The angel writhed, his fists clenching and unclenching as his face twisted in pain.

“It’s alright, Aziraphale. I’ve got you, I’m here.

Aziraphale let out another cry, grabbing a hold of Crowley’s jacket.

A glow formed above Aziraphale’s head. His halo had appeared, but the angel hadn’t summoned it. Instead of a warm yellow, it was blazing bright red and vibrating like an irate frog.

“No.” Crowley breathed, clutching the angel close.

Another scream of pain burst from Aziraphale, his fists gripping Crowley’s coat even tighter. Sweat was beginning to form on his brow. His arms trembled with the effort.

“N-no!” Aziraphale groaned. “Please!”

His fists tightened so much that his palms were beginning to bleed and the look of pain deepened. With another shriek, this one loud enough to shake the entire shop, his wings burst from his back. His halo began to vibrate even more, a humming noise filling Crowley’s ears. Trembles broke out all over Aziraphale’s body and tears began to pour down his face.

A blaze of orange light burst at the base of Aziraphale’s wings. Small tongues of flame had sparked and began devouring the feathers, but instead of leaving dust and ashes behind, the feathers remained, black as night and stained with blood and tar. A similar substance burst from Aziraphale’s mouth in a pained cough, spilling down his chin and onto his waistcoat and jacket. The tears running down his face began to turn red as blood.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale moaned. “I-I don’t want to! Don’t let me fall!”

Crowley couldn’t find his voice, all he could do was hold Aziraphale close to him, running his fingers through the soft blonde curls, hoping to offer him some kind of comfort. The feathers on Aziraphale’s wings had all burned black but his halo had yet to break. Aziraphale was beginning to shake, his breathing picking up significantly. The halo continued to vibrate and the hum had grown to a loud buzz. The two were in a battle and Aziraphale was holding on with hall his might, though his strength was rapidly depleting. But he would hold on. He would hold on until he broke. That’s all this was. A battle to see who broke first but his opponent wasn’t just his halo or his heavenly essence. It was somebody much higher and much stronger than both him and Crowley.

If Aziraphale kept fighting, he would likely do permanent damage to himself.

“Aziraphale, let go!” Crowley begged.

“No!” Aziraphale cried into Crowley’s chest. “I don’t want to fall!”  
“Please.” Crowley whispered. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I can’t! I have to…” his thought was cut off by another scream of pain. The glow around the halo grew more vibrant, the shade of red becoming angrier and the light filled the entire shop.

Finally, with a loud scream, Aziraphale let go, the halo shattered to pieces. Crowley held Aziraphale close, hoping to shield him from the inferno raining down on them. Some of the pieces he was able to shield him from, but the rest found their way onto Aziraphale’s body, melting into his skin, soaking into his blood, his marrow, his very essence.

With the halo gone, the process could begin in full. What few people know about falling from Grace is that it isn’t an action. It’s a process. It was only named “falling” because the first time it happened was after the war in Heaven when the first demons were cast out and the process happened as their bodies physically fell from the heavens. But any celestial being can fall from anywhere. It is an agonizing process, pieces of the broken halo soaks into the angels body, turning to hellfire in their veins and burning away any Grace left in them and leaving only a void. And it takes hours.

Crowley held Aziraphale in his arms as it happened. Loud sobs wracked him and filled the empty space in the bookshop. As Crowley gently rubbed small circles into Aziraphale’s back, he could feel the heat running through his veins.

“It burns.” Aziraphale whimpered. “Oh it burns.”

“I know, dove, I know.” Crowley soothed, though his voice was shaking. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

Aziraphale gave Crowley’s jacket a little tug. “Don’t leave me.” He cried.

Crowley shifted his grip on the ange…on Aziraphale so the blonde’s head was resting against his chest, over his heart.

“Never.” He whispered.

After that brief conversation, neither of them spoke until the process was finished. Aziraphale would whimper and sob in pain, but no more words were exchanged. Crowley did all he could to offer him any kind of comfort, but there wasn’t much that could be done.

By the time it ended, the sun was beginning to rise, tiny slivers of yellow light peeking in through the cracks in the bookshelves. Aziraphale was like a limp sack in Crowley’s arms, he didn’t even have the strength to tremble anymore, but a few quiet sobs escaped from him.

Crowley laid his hand over Aziraphale’s forehead. It was warm, not burning up, but still warmer than he should be. It could have been that his body actually had a fever or it could have been the hellfire that was now coursing through the blonde’s body.

“Do you think you can stand?” Crowley whispered. Aziraphale shook his head, burrowing his face into Crowley’s chest. As gently as he could, Crowley swept his arms under Aziraphale and scooped him up, carrying him to the stairs to the flat above. Crowley knew it was just a formality that it was there, Aziraphale never actually used that flat, just like calling the bookshop a “shop” despite the fact that Aziraphale only sold his books once in a blue moon. But in that moment, Crowley was glad that it was there. Before he’d made it up the stairs, the flat was clean and the bedroom refurnished with a bed big enough to hold them both and a warm fire was going in a fireplace that hadn’t existed ten minutes earlier.

Aziraphale’s now black wings were dragging on the ground, leaving being the sticky black residue on the floor. Had Aziraphale not been out of it, he likely would have complained about the mess. Crowley snapped his fingers, cleaning the mess with a quick thought.

By the time they’d made it o the bedroom, Aziraphale’s sobs had died down but there were still silent tears coming down his face. Crowley set him on the bed, positioning him so he was kneeling before summoning a handkerchief and stepping in front of them. Despite his efforts not to, he still let out a quiet gasp when he saw Aziraphale’s eyes. The irises were still blue, deep and clear and lovely, but the whites of his eyes were jet black, as well as the pupil, leaving a bright blue sphere floating in a black abyss. Crowley was startled for a moment but gathered himself and lifted a hand to cup Aziraphale’s cheek, murmuring soft reassurances as he wiped the mixture of blood and tar from his mouth and chin. It was unlikely that his waistcoat and jacket could be saved. He would try anyway, but that was a problem for tomorrow.

Aziraphale made no move or sound as Crowley gently tugged the jacket from his shoulders and unbuttoned the waistcoat, removing both and folding them into a neat pile, placing them on the dresser. He thought about miracling up a pair of pajamas, but wasn’t sure if zapping a new set of clothes onto Aziraphale while he was so out of it was a good idea. Luckily his shirt and pants had been spared, so they at least had that.

“I’m gonna clean your wings, is that okay?”

Aziraphale was silent. Crowley stepped in front of the bed and sat down in front of him again. His face was blank and his eyes were cloudy and far away. Red tears fell from them without any effort.

“Oh, Aziraphale.” Crowley whispered, cupping a hand to the blonde’s plump cheek, swiping at the tears. “We’ll get you through this.” He pulled off his jacket and draped it around Aziraphale’s shoulders, looping it around the black wings. The blonde numbly lifted a hand to clutch at the fabric as Crowley moved behind him again, miracling a large bowl of water, a fine toothed comb, and a soft washrag and towel. “It’s gonna be alright.” Crowley promised as he laid the towel underneath Aziraphale’s wings. It was a load of shit and they both knew it. Nothing about this situation was alright.

Crowley let out a quivering sigh as he picked up the comb and began gently running the flat edge over the surface of the wings, scraping away the black substance. Once the surface coat was gone, he combed through the delicate feathers, brushing away the mess and dust from them. Despite how fussy he could be, Crowley knew that Aziraphale wasn’t very diligent when it came to grooming his wings. For an angel, Aziraphale could be…Crowley had to stop himself before his thought went too far. He sighed again, doing his best to keep the tremble out of his fingers as he gently ran the teeth of the comb between the feathers.

It was ten minutes of very tense silence. Even Aziraphale’s sobs had gone quiet. It felt like the world itself was watching them, silent and solemn.

Once he had cleaned all the sticky blood and tar from the wings and straightened and cleaned them, plucking away the loose and over grown down he snapped his fingers again, sending the comb back to the washroom and the towel and washrag, now stained completely black, to the wastebin out on the curb.

“I still need to oil them. Is that okay?” He asked softly. Aziraphale answered with a noncommittal grunt. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.” Crowley promised, running his fingers over the oil gland at the base of his left wing.

He’d imagined grooming Aziraphale’s wings for several years now. He’d thought of it as something beautiful and intimate not…not like this. Not with Aziraphale too sad and frightened and numb to even look at him.

As gently as Crowley could, he massaged the oil over the feathers, giving them a sleek shine, the primaries ruffling as his fingers traveling through them. They were soft and warm and if Crowley closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that things were okay and normal.

He’d almost finished oiling the right wing when a little noise stopped him. A whimper.

“Hey, c’mere.” Crowley soothed, wiping his hands and shifting so he was in front of Aziraphale again. As soon as he saw him, the blonde grabbed hold of Crowley, clinging to him as if he were life itself. Crowley took ahold of the blanket and wrapped it around the two of them, pulling Aziraphale to his chest. “Warm enough?” He asked. Aziraphale nodded weakly, his eyes squeezed shut. “That’s good.”

Even though he was supernatural and didn’t need sleep, Aziraphale looked exhausted beyond belief.

Crowley tightened his hold on Aziraphale, putting his hand on the back of the blonde’s head as he lowered them both into a laying down position, both of them on their sides facing each other.

“Sleep, love.” He soothed, weaving as much peace as a demon could muster into his words. “Sleep and feel no pain.”

Gradually, the harsh lines around Aziraphale’s eyes and forehead smoothed away and his breaths began to slow and even out. Crowley leaned down and laid another soft kiss on his forehead, just underneath the blonde curls.

Once he was sure Aziraphale was asleep, a hot horrid rage began to rise in Crowley a question in the form of a low growl crawled from his throat.

“Why?” He snarled, turning his eyes from his sleeping ange...from Aziraphale asleep in his arms to the ceiling. “Why did you make him fall?” His eyebrows knit with rage. “Tell me why?!” The question was an irate hiss, quiet not to wake Aziraphale. He knew the question could have been inaudible and She would have heard. Wouldn’t make any difference. No matter how long he begged or how loud he shouted, She wouldn’t tell him anything. “He didn’t deserve it! He’s the only one in Heaven or in Hell that gives a flying fuck about your creations! And you let him fall? What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

Aziraphale let out a little whimper and trembled in Crowley’s arms and Crowley looked back down at him. “Oh, Aziraphale.” He murmured. “I’m sorry. I’m so _so_ sorry.” He pulled the blonde closer, as if he would slip away and never return if he held him to loose. “This isn’t your fault, love.” He whispered, weaving another dose of calm into his voice. He’d used this trick a few times when he’’d encountered people who were too weary or beat down to go on. He called it sloth to keep from getting in trouble with Hell but deep down he knew better. It was peace. And he wanted to give Aziraphale all the peace and calm he deserved. “It’s mine. If I’d never…if you hadn’t met me…I’m so sorry.”

Aziraphale sighed sleepily and snuggled closer to Crowley, nuzzling into him. Something squeezed in Crowley’s chest and he settled in closer, burying his face in the dusting of blonde curls under his chin.

“Don’t worry. I won’t leave you. You won’t be alone.”

* * * * *

Aziraphale slept for a full twenty hours, the sun was rising again by the time he woke up. Crowley stayed cuddled against him the entire time, whispering soft reassurances to him as he slept.

“C-Crowley?” Aziraphale murmured, opening his eyes.

“Hey there.” Crowley said, cupping the blonde’s cheek. “How do you feel?”

“Everything aches.” Aziraphale groaned. The physical ache wasn’t the only pain in his voice. “Crowley, I…I fell yesterday didn’t I?”

A pain sunk in Crowley’s chest. “Yeah.” He said, sighing a bit. Aziraphale was silent, dropping his eyes, as if he didn’t believe it until he heard it directly from Crowley.

“No.” He breathed.

“Love, I’m so sor-“

“Don’t touch me!” Aziraphale cried. “I…I don’t…I want to be left alone.”

“You sure?” Crowley asked, the pain in his heart deepening. Aziraphale lowered his eyes.

“Please.” He begged, his voice sounded broken and weak.

“Okay.” Crowley said. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

He slipped out of the bed, tucking the extra blanket around Aziraphale, who’s eyes were far away and thoughts were elsewhere. Crowley snapped his fingers, lowering the light and closing the blinds, leaving the room comfortably dim.

As soon as he closed the door behind him, the red haired demon walked into the little kitchen and sat down at the table, putting his head in his hands.

* * * * *

Aziraphale’s entire body ached, but the pain in his mind was far more agonizing than the pain in his body. As the events of the previous afternoon replayed over and over in his mind, he didn’t know if he wanted to scream until he was hoarse or destroy every material object in the room. He ultimately decided to neither, he was far too worn out to do anything more than whimper and let a few tears fall from his eyes onto the pillow.

Something began to spread on the white pillowcase, a drop of red soaking into the fabric. He traced a finger under his eye. A red tear sat on his knuckle. The sight of it only made more tears come, along with a pained sob.

He had fallen. He had really fallen. Heaven, the other angels, his siblings, his _Mother_ had finally gotten so tired of him that they’d tossed him out. He could just imagine what was going on in Heaven, perhaps they were celebrating. They’d finally rid themselves of the traitor, the disappointment.

The thoughts raged through his mind but the usual sting in his chest and tight squeeze of emotional pain that usually came with them was nowhere to be found. His chest was empty, he was…numb.

He searched his mind for especially potent memories, parts of his life that made him feel. Joy, anguish, fear, any emotion would do as long as it was strong. But there was nothing. The memories were just photographs taken from a stranger’s album. They meant nothing to him.

Another sob came from him. Where had it started from? Oh he knew he felt something. He wouldn’t be crying if he didn’t feel some kind of emption. But he just couldn’t find it. The tears just came without any kind of indication of where they had come from.

Maybe it was from the physical pain because there was plenty of that. His throat was raw and there was an acidic, bitter taste on his tongue. His back ached and his head felt like someone had tried to shove a brick into his ear. Every movement was utter agony. Would this pain ever stop? Did Crowley feel this all the time?

Crowley…

The thought of the demon sent a fresh wave of tears pouring from Aziraphale’s eyes, more droplets of red staining the pillowcase.

This may have been horrid for him but it was even worse for Crowley. The demon had always been his deepest and truest companion and Aziraphale had loved him…still loved him…had loved him. But demons couldn’t feel love. Crowley was an exception. Crowley was a wonderful, kind being who had known how to love from the beginning. He’d loved Aziraphale, despite what a disappointment he was. But he had loved Aziraphale and Aziraphale loved him back. But now…

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, looking for something, _anything_ that he could hold onto. A single drop of affection or love. _Anything_. But all his searching came up empty

He couldn’t feel.

He couldn’t love.

Not Crowley, not anyone.

There was nothing but a soulless void, yawning and stretching out into oblivion. There was nothing, a gaping hole where his Grace used to be. It made everything so hard. There was almost a sensation of someone sitting on his chest or squeezing a very tight fist around his heart. He couldn’t breathe! Dear God he couldn’t breathe!

He wrenched his fingers into the sheets. He wanted to scream but he…he was so tired…so tired…

* * * * *

Crowley hated feeling so bloody useless. Aziraphale was surging, going through the worst thing an angel could experience and he was going through it alone. Because Crowley was too much of a coward to help.

Useless. That’s all he could ever be. It wouldn’t be a surprise if Aziraphale never wanted to see him again. After all it was practically his fault that he fell.

No this wasn’t about him, this was about Aziraphale. He needed to be there for him, be strong for him.

The clock on the wall chimed 8:00. Aziraphale hadn’t eaten anything since dinner two days ago, he’d likely be hungry. Or at least needing something to make him happy.

Crowley walked into the kitchen. With a thought, the ingredients he needed were sitting on the counter. Aziraphale preferred to have food made the old fashioned way, including the ingredients. But there was no way Crowley was leaving Aziraphale like this to go to the grocery store, so miracles ingredients it was.

He’d made crepes for Aziraphale before, so making them now was practically a basic instinct for him. Which was good because if he actually had to focus on what he was doing, it would end disastrously. So while his muscle memory took over, his mind began to wander.

This was uncharted territory for both of them. Crowley was fallen as well, but he couldn’t relate to Aziraphale. He didn’t deserve it. Crowley did. That’s what it all boiled down to. Crowley might not have intended to fall, but he fell nonetheless. He still remembered it, the bloodshed of the day still fresh in his mind. There they stood at the edge of Heaven, beaten, berated, and wracked with wounds that would never heal. They had been told to either repent or leave Heaven. Lucifer, Beelzebub, Hastur, Ligur, and all the rest had chosen to leave, stalking right out the pearly gates and jumping to the unknown below.

Crowley had stood in between, away from the crowd of angels, but further in than the outskirts of the ethereal plane. He’d gone by a different name. He’d been a different being.

“$%^, what do you choose?” He couldn’t remember his old name,

He looked towards the edge, the other angels, his siblings, his family, stepping off the edge and plummeting below, possibly to their destruction.

“Why couldn’t we heal them before they left?”

“Because they’re traitors (*&%#. Surely you must know that.”

“Traitors receive no compassion.” Michael said. Somehow, her sword and hands were stained with blood but her robe was still beautifully pure white. The sneer on her face could freeze even the hottest of holy flames.

“B-but…” &^$% looked back towards the rest of his brethren. Lucifer was the last one. He took a look back, locking his eyes with ^#%$ and he smiled. He actually smiled. He’d started a war between their family and gotten himself and a third of Heaven exiled for eternity and he still smiled. )&@%!’s breath caught in his throat as Lucifer held out his hands and fell backwards, disappearing from sight.

!&#@* looked back towards his fellow angels.

“Maybe we could have compromised with them. We are reasonable beings, after all.” There was a murmur of discontent through the crowd. “But aren’t we supposed to love? To forgive? That’s what God made us to do.”

“She made us to forgive those who are worthy. All else will be cast aside, like they.” Michael said, gesturing to the edge behind >|!{@.

“But…all Her creations-”

“If we allow them to do wrong and forgive them without thought, they will choose to turn away from Her. We can not be lenient!” Gabriel roared. “Especially towards traitors!”

“Than what’s even the point?!” ?>+@* shouted back. There was a tense silence as his voice echoed around them, the white halls shouting back his insolence. He could feel every single eye in the entirety of Heaven fixed on him.

Gabriel was the first to break the silence, his voice low and intense.

“You dare question our Heavenly Mother?”

$^*& went stiff, a few beads of sweat running down his corporation.

“Y-yes.” @#$% said. “We’re supposed to love unconditionally. No ‘unless’, no ‘if only’. Just love, plain and simple. Isn’t that what Mother wants of us?”

Gabriel snorted. “If She wanted us to love like that, She wouldn’t have given Lucifer and the others the chance to rebel.”

“Then maybe She’s wrong.”

There were a few gasps. In less time than it took to blink, Gabriel had beat his wings and grabbed hold to *&^#’s robe, gripping the white fabric in his fist as he dangled him off the edge.

“That sounds like the talk of a traitor, one who dares to think himself wiser than God.”

“Gabriel wait, I didn’t-”

“And we all know what happens to traitors.”

“No!”

$*(%¥ looked out over the crowd of angels, his family. Some of them had shock on their faces, most of them were indifferent or sneering in triumph. One small angel near the back was watching with tears in his eyes and utter fear on his face. He was trembling. ˆ^%) wanted nothing more than to reach out to that small angel and let him know that it was going to be okay. But if he were being honest, (!%*$ didn’t know if things were going to be okay and he was just as scared as that angel. He was utterly terrified.

Then Gabriel let go of *!&^*’s robe.

And Crawly fell.

The sizzle of the batter in the pan brought Crowley back to reality and he grabbed a spatula to flip the crepe over, letting the batter solidify and turn to a golden yellow color.

Thinking about that day hurt, in more ways than one. Whenever he let his mind wander to the darker parts of his mind, a horrible ache would spread all over his corporation.

He was sure every demon had felt or would feel that at some point.

Aziraphale was likely feeling that now.

Aziraphale. Oh Sa— Somebody, Aziraphale!

Crowley finished the crepes as fast as he could, cutting up some strawberries and sprinkling a bit of powdered sugar over them before grabbing a fork and prayi...hoping that Aziraphale would eat. Would accept some kind of comfort.

He wouldn’t let Aziraphale be in pain longer than he had to be.

* * * * *

He had tried to sleep. He had tried his damndest but it just wouldn’t work. His body was absolutely exhausted but his bloody mind just wouldn’t shut up.

All the while, the horrible red tears just wouldn’t stop falling. He hated that he couldn’t stay them even for all his effort. Did all demons cry blood? He’d never seen Crowley cry, except for in the pub after he’d been discorporated, but he could only see the demon’s blurry outline, the details had been lost.

Maybe it was just him. There was something wrong with him. Only fitting. He was a freak in Heaven, now he’d be a freak in Hell too.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley’s voice came from the other side of the door, following a light knock. “Can I come in?”

Aziraphale sighed. “If you wish.”

The creak of the door sounded behind him, followed by a smell he would have once called divine. Once.

“I made you some crepes. I know we don’t need food, but I think you should still eat.”

“I’m sorry, my dear boy. I’m not hungry.” Aziraphale muttered quietly.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley breathed, pain in his voice. Aziraphale would have felt bad for causing Crowley pain, if there were anything in his chest aside from the horrid emptiness.

“Love, please. You need to keep your strength up. And…and it might make you feel a little better.”

“Feel better?” Aziraphale said, turning to face the demon…his fellow demon. Crowley had abandoned his sunglasses, leaving his brilliant golden eyes on full display. He looked scared. “I can’t bloody feel at all!” Aziraphale bellowed.

Crowley set the crepes on the bedside table and sat down next to the sobbing demon.

“I hate this!” Aziraphale cried. “I can’t stand this…this _nothing_! This emptiness.”

Crowley moved to wrap his arms around Aziraphale but hesitated. Aziraphale was too tired to care and there was an inkling of something in the back of his mind that he might have identified as want if it weren’t clouded by a slew of other thoughts. He found himself leaning into the embrace, hoping beyond hope that it would awaken something inside him, but everything stayed dormant.

“I’m so, so sorry, love.” Crowley murmured.

“Whatever for?” Aziraphale asked. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” Crowley said. “If you hadn’t of met me, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I never fit properly in Heaven. I was always different from the other angels. This would have happened eventually. It isn’t your fault.”

“Aziraphale-“

“I said this isn’t your fault. I made the choice to love you, and I regret nothing. Only…only now I can’t…” He buried his face in Crowley’s shoulder.

“I know.” Crowley whispered as he gently stroked the soft blonde curls. “It’s absolute shit at first. But it goes away. You learn to feel things again. Most other demons only limit themselves to feeling things like hatred or misery or lust, but you learn if you let yourself. I won’t lie. It’s not the same as before, without Her love-”

“I don’t care about Her!” Aziraphale wailed, feeling a little sick as the words left his mouth. But what did it matter, She’d already cast him out, She didn’t care about him. Might as well return the sentiment. “But I feel nothing for _you_ now! I can’t love you! I can’t adore you or feel happy when I’m around you anymore! I’ve never existed without loving you and now I have to!” He sniffled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you left. I wouldn’t blame you. I’m not worth the trouble.”

“Left?” Crowley gasped. “Why the fuck would I do something stupid like that?”

Aziraphale nestled his face further into Crowley, taking in his scent, hoping to hold on a little longer before the inevitable happened.

“Because I can’t love you.” Aziraphale whispered. “Why would you want to stay with someone who can’t return your affection?”

“It’s okay, love.” Crowley said, continuing to stroke Aziraphale’s hair. “It doesn’t last forever.”

“Demon’s can’t love.” Aziraphale said, his voice even weaker than before. “I know you can. You’re special, wonderful and complicated. You love and feel and care so deeply. You’re not like other demons.”

“And neither are you.” Crowley insisted. The hand that wasn’t in Aziraphale’s hair lifted to cradle his cheek. “You weren’t like other angels either. Neither Heaven nor Hell gave a damn about humanity, about any of Her creations. They were just an item on a checklist, collateral, inventory. You saw, still see them as they are. Lives, begging to be lived, filled with experiences and, and love and all that other stuff that makes existence not utter shit.

Aziraphale was trembling, unable to form even the vaguest of responses. Crowley pressed a kiss to the top of his blonde head. All these sensations, the warm hand on his face, the elegant and gentle fingers in his hair, the tenderness of the kiss, they were all too much and at that same time not nearly enough.

“And I didn’t start out knowing how to love.” Crowley murmured. For the first time during the entire conversation, Aziraphale lifted his eyes to meet Crowley’s. And…Crowley was smiling. He was actually looking at him, this disgusting creature, with love and affection. He was smiling.

“You…you didn’t?” Aziraphale asked weakly.

Crowley shook his head. “You taught me how.” He whispered. “You were kind to me, even though we were supposed to be enemies. And you were kind to humanity too. You have them comfort, joy, love. I thought…well hoped is a better term, that maybe you’d give it to me too. But I also knew that you weren’t supposed to. But still you did. And it made me feel. Taught me to love. It wasn’t me that was special. It was always you.” His thumb traced along Aziraphale’s cheek, brushing away the tears that were continuing to fall, but their pace was beginning to slow. “Now I get to return the favor.”

“Y…you still want me?” Aziraphale murmured.

“Of course.” Crowley said, almost shocked at the question. “Always. Why would you ever think I wouldn’t?”

“Because I’m not an angel anymore.” Aziraphale cried. Crowley was silent. “I’m not _your_ angel. I’m not beautiful or holy or anything anymore. I’m…I’m broken.”

“You thought _that_ was why I loved you?” Crowley said, utterly gobsmacked. “Dash it all, Aziraphale _,_ it wasn’t because you were an angel, it’s because you’re you. Kind, smart, loving, and wonderfully soft. No matter wha you are, angel or demon.” He nuzzled Aziraphale’s hair. “‘Unicorn, mermaid, sorceress, no name you give her would surprise or frighten me. I love whom I love.”

Aziraphale chuckled, the first time he’d laughed since falling.

“Peter S. Beagle. I didn’t think you knew that one.”

“I may have read it Warlock, only because a certain bibliophile told me it was so delightful.” He continued carding his fingers through the blonde curls. “The sentiment still stands. I love you. No conditions. No ‘unless’, no ‘if only’. It doesn’t matter what you are. I love you. Plain and simple.”

A little smile crawled across Aziraphale’s face. “As I recall, you said something similar a very long time ago.”

Crowley answered with a little kiss to his forehead. “I meant it then and I mean it now. Here, for you. You will always be my guiding star, my shard of light, my most precious companion. You are beautiful, and kind and wonderful. And you are not broken.” His thumb continued to trace a gently line against the curve of a plump cheek. “You’re just in a low place. It won’t last forever.” He leaned down to place a soft, sweet kiss to the blonde’s lips, which he returned, feeling just a small bit better, lighter, warmer. “I love you, Aziraphale.”

The blonde slightly winced.

“Something wrong?” Crowley asked, his voice anxious.

“My name. She named me Aziraphale but I’m not Her angel anymore. It feels…wrong somehow. ‘Aziraphale’ just doesn’t seem to fit me anymore.” He sighed wearily. “I suppose I should wait for Satan to give me a new one.”

“You could do that, or you could choose one yourself.”

“Oh, I’d forgotten. You chose your name.” The blonde flushed slightly. “How did you choose it?”

“Don’t laugh.” Crowley said. “It’s kind of credit to you as well.”

“M-me?” Aziraphale murmured, a tiny glimmer of something in his dark eyes and in the very pit of his chest.

“Yeah. Shortly after Jesus was born, we were sitting in a secluded garden just outside of Jerusalem. Then you stopped talking mid sentence and went over to a bird under a bush, a crow. Its wing was broken and it was sick. And you healed it, let it sit in your hand for a few minutes while you gave it some comforting words, and then it flew away. It was so free and happy. It didn’t have to worry about doing its job wrong or getting punished by Hell or keeping romantic feelings for its sworn enemy hidden under wraps.” The blonde chuckled again. “It could just be, flying away into the sun. I wished I could be like that crow. Not crawling low on the ground, not something that God rejected and Satan remade. Something of my own, free and soaring. With you.”

The blonde felt something warm inside him. It was small and weak, but it was there.

“I want a name that reminds me of you, my darling.” Aziraphale said.

“Like what?”

After a bit of thought, he answered, “Alistair. ‘The eleventh star.’”

Crowley nuzzled his face into Azira…Alistair’s hair, taking in the scent of old pages bound in leather and a comforting hint of the cinnamon that he’d sometimes put in his cocoa.

“It’s perfect.” He whispered.

Alistair rested his face in the crook of Crowley’s neck, a slight tremble to his movements.

“You okay, Starlight?” Crowley whispered.

“I…I don’t know. I…everything aches and…I’m cold and burning at the same time.”

Crowley gently shifted so they were laying on their sides, Alistair’s head still tucked under Crowley’s chin. “Yeah, that part sucks. It should go away in a few days. I wouldn’t suggest moving too much until then, maybe sleep it off.”

“Crowley?” Alistair’s voice was small and timid.

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember that film we saw a few years ago? The one about the Irish musician?”

“ _Once_? Yeah I remember.”

“There was that one song in it. I don’t remember the name, but there was something about pointing a sinking boat towards home.”

“Falling slowly.” Crowley said. Neither of them wanted to comment of the cruel irony of the title.

“Yes, that one.”

“What about it?”

“Well…” Alistair said bashfully. “Would…would you mind singing it to me?”

Crowley smiled and kissed his love’s forehead.

“Glad to oblige.”

Alistair settled into Crowley’s arms, still feeling the gnawing emptiness inside him, but it was beginning to chip away. It would take a long time for it to shrink to a manageable size and it would never truly go away. But he would have Crowley beside him.

The demon began singing, his gentle but still passionate voice caressing Alistair and soothing his mind as he gradually began to drift into a quiet slumber.

They would get through this the way they did all things.

Together.

_I don't know you_

_But I want you_

_All the more for that_

_Words fall through me_

_And always fool me_

_And I can't react_

_And games that never amount_

_To more than they're meant_

_Will play themselves out_

_Take this sinking boat and point it home_

_We've still got time_

_Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice_

_You'll make it now_

_Falling slowly, eyes that know me_

_And I can't go back_

_And moods that take me and erase me_

_And I'm painted black_

_Well, you have suffered enough_

_And warred with yourself_

_It's time that you won_

_Take this sinking boat and point it home_

_We've still got time_

_Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice_

_You've made it now_

_Falling slowly, sing your melody_

_I'll sing along_

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So I tried to write this out as quickly as possible for my birthday (depending on your timezone it's either still happening or just happened, either way my birthday was the sixth of October, it's only about half past midnight on October seventh where I am). I wanted to give you all a little gift as well. I wrote this down in a journal before typing it up and it took a week's worth of time to write. I am very proud of the soft and the comfort. I hope you all like it, kudos and comments are very much appreciated. Thank you all for reading and have a very lovely day.


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